


New York, New York

by orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Actor Stanley, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Theatre, Bill Denbrough & Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Dancer Bill, First Meetings, Fluff, Gay Stanley Uris, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Musicals, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, i guess, no one fucking dies here, probably some angst in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stanley Uris is a twenty-six year old actor looking for a chance to make a name for himself in New York, New York. So when Richie tells him about a possible role with his own solo act, he jumps into it. The only problem? He needs to learn to tap dance.Bill Denbrough is a twenty-nine year old dance teacher, freshly out of an divorce and having his own trademark bisexual crisis. When he meets Stan in his studio, he thinks, oh fuck, followed by definitely bisexual.Dancer AU meets Theater AU, with side Reddie.
Relationships: (background), Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	New York, New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to this mess of a fic that came out of late night planning between me and my friend over whatsapp. This is my first time writing with someone else and I'm so fucking glad that I got to do it with that little shit I call a friend. I really hope everyone enjoys it as much as we do! (Please read the end notes for a message from my friend).
> 
> Also, the title and parts of the story were based on Frank Sinatra's New York, New York (mostly because I love Frank Sinatra and my friend had to just roll with it). Enjoy the reading!

**_INT. STANLEY'S APARTMENT — DAY_ **

In his defense, Stanley Uris has been Richie Tozier's best friend since both of them were just toddlers. He was considered, not by choice, a Trashmouth Expert — again, he did not approved of the name — and was pretty good at reading his childhood nuisance. So, usually, when Richie called this early in the morning, it meant that he didn't even went to sleep the night before.

That's why when Stan got the call from Richie he didn't expect much of it. 

He thought Richie would just drunkenly plead Stanley to pick him up from a bar somewhere — god knows it wouldn't be the first time — or, if he did had slept, to go for a coffee so they could catch up with each other like they usually did — much more pleasant alternative, if you ask Stan, who did not like bars. So, as soon as Richie's voice reached his ears, speaking more urgently than usual before Stanley was even able to greet him, his immediate thought was ' _Oh, not drunk, then,'_ followed by _'Wait, what?'._ Stan blinked a couple of times, and it took him a few seconds to grasp around the words that were being practically yelled at him from the other line. He was fairly good at keeping up with Richie's motormouth on a good day, having grown up with it and all, but today it seemed like he was trying to reach a new speed record with his non-stopping chatter.

"Uh," he managed to say in between Richie's words. "Wait– Richie, slow down!"

"Stan! We don't have time!" Richie said, earnest urgency in his tone, making Stan frown. "I'm gonna send you this address and you need to come fucking quickly, man, or else they'll try to cast some fuckhead that isn't nearly as good as you are, and I know for a fact you're the perfect cast for this role, Stanny. I mean, obviously you'd make a rad lead and shit, but– that's not the point right now." there was a pause there, as if Richie was trying to recollect his own thoughts before the fast pace words came out of his mouth again. "Trust me, Stan, you really don't want to miss this. It's a big chance for you. Maybe this can give you the break you deserve, dude. This could be it."

Stanley stammers for a moment, his brain finally making sense of the words Richie was throwing at him, his eyes widened, practically doubling in size — Richie would've for sure made fun of it, had him seen it — when he understood what it all meant. He searched frantically around in his small apartment's living room for a pen and something to write on, finding a receipt from his last trip to the grocery store down the block and a pen resting on his coffee table.

The pen was, frankly, an ugly looking thing, which, being one of Richie's infamous gifts, was not a surprise at all. It was bright pink and had a deformed cartoon character attached to the top, that Richie made sure to explain him it was a meme or something, and it lit up in the dark. Stan did not understand the point of having a pen that was also a flashlight, but Richie insisted that _'it's for writing in the dark'_ to which Stan would argue _'just turn the damn fucking light on Richie!'_ getting an _'but I don't wanna get up Stan!'_ as an response. That would spiral into an argument about Richie's worrying level of laziness pretty much everytime someone used the fucking pen. All in all, it was somewhat a pretty good gift, the ink was dark black and smooth and Stan secretly really liked, using it more than frequently.

Richie would do that, sometimes. Buy random things for him or his friend Mike, small, cheap, ugly objects, but that would lead them into good-natured bickering and making fun of each other. Fairly often, if they were having an fight, Richie would bring him something ridiculous. Not as a bribe, because that would be a poor attempt of one — _"an one dollar pen? Do I look like a cheap whore to you?"_ —, but as a peace offering, which meant that Stan had a bunch of grotesque looking pencils and markers everywhere.

"Tell me the address," he said finally after watching the pen for a second, which led Richie to sigh in such exasperated relief that Stan believed was more than just theatrics.

Richie did as told, for maybe the first time in his life, finally — _finally_ — slowing down his pace so Stanley wouldn't get the address wrong, scribbling the paper with his bright pink meme pen and soon he had a receipt with an unknown address that — as Richie had said — could be the place where he'll finally have the break he was meant to have.

"Be here as soon as possible, Staniel," Richie said, but he pronounced it as _asap_. "I'm serious man, and you know I don't do serious. Just call me when you get here and I'll wait for you outside."

"Alright, yeah– fuck, ok," he ran a hand through his neat curls, messing it up a bit. "Thanks, Richie. Really, I–" he sounded frantic to his own ears, he imagined what Richie was hearing. Not that he could complain, of all people.

"No problem, man. Just, fucking… come quickly."

Then he hung up, and Stanley didn't move for a solid minute, still trying to process the events that had just unfolded while he looked at the address he held in his trembling hands, shaking with adrenaline from the unexpected phonecall and its contents. Once he did, he didn't hold back the smile that appeared in his face and he made a quick run to his room, getting clean clothes before taking a even quicker shower, making sure to fix his hair from where he messed it up minutes ago. He could barely contain himself with excitement and nervous energy when he finally took his car keys, hand still unstable, and left his apartment in a hurry, almost tripping on the stairs on his way down a few times.

He entered his car, an old black Chevrolet 500 named Gertie and listen, ok; Stan is the first one to admit that she wasn't the most good-looking car around. Outside the paint was slowly but surely turning gray, the seats were a bit worn-out and he had to physically wrestle the radio if he was actively trying to make it work, which was pretty much all Richie did everytime Stan agreed on giving him a ride — it wasn't about the money, Richie was more than capable of paying for his own rides (or even buying a car, but Stan doubted that he knew how to drive), but it didn't take a genius to know that Richie enjoyed having company at all times, even if it's in Stan's old rusty car. Besides, she was a gift from his father right before he moved out to New York. He was so sure that his dad would've hated his guts when he told him he was leaving to New York for drama school, that when he got Gertie as a _'good luck'_ gift he was sure he had died on that spot and his life so far had been a dream. The only reason he knew it wasn't one it's because Richie was still here. She had been with him ever since then and was a part of his family now.

But, Stan thinks, even if he did had the money to find a new, better car, he wouldn't trade her for nothing, she's been through thick and thin with him, Gertie has his ride or die. Literally.

The interior smelled nice, Stan never letting Richie smoke in the car no matter how much the other nagged him to, although his annoyance didn't stop his friend from buying knickknacks and filling the car with stupid dice plushies that hanged in the rearview. Richie may not be _rich,_ but he was a _Dick_ alright. But at least the windows worked just fine, so Stan didn't complain much.

He slammed the door shut with more force than what was necessary by accident in his hurried state, which startled him for a second, giving Stan the lucid moment he needed to take some deep breaths and try to calm down a bit. An inhale, hold it in, exhale, slowly repeating the pattern as he grabbed his phone and typed down the address Richie gave him on the GPS. It wasn't that far from his apartment — a 15 minute drive if the New York traffic helped him — and that seemed to helped him relax a bit more, knowing it wouldn't take that long to get there. His brain only started questioning this whole ordeal when he was already on the streets, on his way to meet up with Richie, which said a lot about his current mindset.

He realized he didn't even ask Richie what it was all about. All he could gather from the conversation — if he could even call it one — was that Richie had a job for him that could maybe help his career, that it wasn't as the lead role — although Stanley wasn't really expecting to get a leading role anytime soon since he wasn't that experienced to begin with —, and that was pretty much it. Those thoughts made him go back to reality a little bit because, knowing Richie, this job could be just like any other he ever had been in before and he was over exaggerating. He gripped the steering wheel, hands perfectly placed on ten and two. Still, he reasoned, Richie sounded pretty agitated, more than usual, and that should mean something. He just wished that it meant something good. 

His apprehension was understood, of course, this was Richie Tozier, the man who once climbed and jumped off a cliff for a dozen donuts — _'It was Krispy Kreme, Stan! I had to!'_ — and proceeded to try and skate on his ancient skateboard from highschool that he himself had graffitied colorful crude words on while eating said donuts and smoked a blunt simultaneously. Of course, he had fallen on his ass, dropped all his donuts and broken his ankle, all at once. And Stan brought this up everytime he needed a reason not to trust Richie.

Richie thought of this story as a _great_ reason to trust him.

Once he was almost at the place, Stanley gave Richie a call, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he started to feel the anxiety bubbling up inside his chest once again. It only took Richie a few rings for him to pick up — and that alone was a miracle —, sounding a lot more calmer than earlier but still talking as if was being timed to say everything he needed and was running out of time. The clock ticking.

"I'm almost at the address," Stanley said instead of a proper greeting, not giving Richie the chance to start babbling again. "you better be right about this being good, I swear to god, Richie."

"You don't even believe in the guy, Stanny." Richie laughed, the sound like static over the phone. "Dude, I promise you, it's worth your time. I'm gonna go outside to wait for you, it's a fucking tall three-storey building and I'll be in front of it, I don't think you can miss it."

Richie hung up before Stanley could even say anything, ever the asshole. He sighed lightly and drove the last few meters that separated him from the place Richie was talking about. He saw the loudmouth right away once he looked at the street, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot going up and down in an anxious tic. He was quick to notice Stan's Chevy approaching and made an exasperated gesture with his ridiculously long limbs — a silent _'there you are!'_ — and started pointing out where Stanley could park, making him only groan as Richie tried to teach him how to park a car, as if he knew how to actually drive without giving everyone else in the car an heart attack, leading to Stanley let the car go in Richie's direction a few times as if he was going to run over him if he didn't stop what he was doing and let Stan do the parking himself. 

"I'm giving you the chance of a lifetime and you fucking try to run me over with your car?" Richie said as Stanley stepped out of his Chevy, his hands on his hips as if he was scolding him. "Not cool, man. Not fucking cool." 

"Good morning to you too, Tozier." he smirked despite his nervousness, just to fuck with his best friend.

"We have no time for greetings, Staniel, be reasonable." Richie managed a grin of his own, even if slightly shakier. "Come on, we need to take you to Mike right now."

"Mike?" Stan questioned. "Hanlon?"

Richie grabbed his forearm with a firm grip and dragged him into the building as Stanley looked at him with a confused expression on his face.

"Yeah, man, Hanlon," He only talked again once they were on their way to wherever Mike was. "He specifically wanted you for this role in his new play because he said you would fit right in and we both agreed, me and him, that this would be such a fucking great opportunity for you that we made you a priority for this role," He rambled on while moving through some corridors, Stan followed suit and listened carefully. "But, of course, we're on a time schedule here and there are people already interested in taking that spot so that's why I needed you to come as soon as possible. And I know it's not a lead role but you'll get a goddamn _solo_ act and that's just fucking amazing for a upcoming actor like you, dude…"

Stanley's heart was beating fast in his chest with each word that Richie practically spat at him, slowly understanding how big of a deal this was and how Richie was most definitely not joking on that call earlier. His anxiety was understandable due to two facts;

First one: This was a play directed by Mike Hanlon, which in itself meant it was a big fucking deal. Mike had made himself known in the theater world not so long ago with his most recent play, one in which Stanley had the chance to actually be a part of, though he was only an extra. He knew that Richie and Mike were friends — they had met in college for what he remembered — and that Mike had liked Stanley ever since the last time they worked together, but he didn't know he left that big of an impression on him, which led them to the second fact: Mike, the _director,_ was the one who wanted Stanley for this role. That single fact in itself made Stanley's throat go dry and knees weak immediately. Whatever this role was, Mike thought he would be perfect for it — a role with an solo act, which was such an incredible concept considering Stanley had only worked as an extra or part of a chorus so far in New York, never having an act where he could actively show what he could do on his own, how _good_ he was on his own.

This job could actually be the break Stanley was waiting for after all.

Richie opened an particular door after a few minutes of going up stairs and down some corridors, taking Stan to a messy office where Mike Hanlon himself was sat down behind his equally disorganized desk and examining some papers. The unnoticed entrance made him raise his head abruptly, ready to scold whoever entered without knocking first before noticing an unsure Stan standing by the door with an overly excited Richie behind him. Mike's expression softened significantly and he got up on his feet, smiling kindly at Stanley before playfully glaring at Richie, no real heat hid behind his eyes, as if he was genuinely so happy to see them both that he couldn't hide it.

"One day you'll learn to knock on the door, trashmouth," he was clearly aiming for a scold, but only managed to sound amused instead, the corner of his mouth dragging up in a lopsided smile.

"Mikey, my main man!" Richie said excitedly and almost immediately he's voice dropped an octave as he followed his greeting with a: "Now, gosh darnit, why the heck would I do t'at? T'is is of extremely urgent matter, boy! I got you your starkid!" Richie spoke in an Western accent — Stan both hated and loved the fact that he had gotten better at it, he liked it because it was so, _so_ much worse before, and hated it because he wouldn't _stop doing it_ now that he was actually good at it — while his hands landed on Stanley's shoulders as he pushed him slightly forward.

"Drop with the Voice, son." Mike said lowly, teasingly, as shook his head, grin never fading, but apparently deciding to let it drop and letting his eyes lock on Stanley for the second time since he entered, his eyes wrinkling in their corners, the ghost of laughter hidden there. "Hello, Stan."

"Good to see you, Mike. It's been a while," Stan said warmly, even if he sounded a little tense. He shrugged off Richie's hands from his shoulders before taking a deep breath and continuing, "Heard that you had a job for me…?" he questioned, hoping his tone didn't give away how much he was hoping for a positive answer. 

"I do, yes," he gestured vaguely towards one of the chairs on the opposite side of his office table. "Please sit down so we can discuss this properly and see if the idea pleases you."

Stan didn't think he needed much convincing, but he did as told, sitting down on the suggested free chair in front of Mike's desk and watched as Richie closed the door, but stayed on his feet with his hands shoved down in the pockets of his jacket. Mike returned to his previous seat, hiding away a few papers in — apparently random — drawers, cleaning what he could see from the table and shooting Stan another friendly smile. 

"Alright, so, did Richie tell you what this new play is about?" he eyed Stanley carefully, apparently evaluating his posture. Though he somehow doubted that that was really it.

"Not really, he just screamed at me to come fast."

"It's really no surprise to anyone that I can make you come quickly, Stan the Man." he didn't have to look back to see that Richie was grinning like a madman, which would've embarrassed him, hadn't he been friends with him since kindergarten. Now he was immune to him. This fact kinda scared him.

"Fucking gross, Dick." He deadpanned back without missing a beat, shrugging after seeing Mike chuckle, both of them not surprised by their mutual friend antics at all — and both choosing to ignore the mumbled _'i'll show you a fucking gross dick'_ that followed for the sake of their sanity. 

"Well then," Mike clapped once, enthusiastically he continued, "First things first: it's a musical. I think we should be clear on that." Stanley frowned at that, his curiosity only growing with the newly learned fact. Mike had never written a musical before for all Stanley knew, so that should be at the very least interesting. "It's about these two friends, right, and they share a mutual dream to make it big in New York as singers, but it's focused more in one of them, obviously. It's set in the 80's so we'll have to deal with the costume design a bit, but don't worry about that for now," he pauses, Stan nods in understanding. "The lead has been taken already, we had auditions for that character not long ago, but he wasn't not really the one I had in mind when I thought of you. Ever since I wrote the second singer, Jonathan, I couldn't stop this feeling that you would be the perfect fit. I know you don't usually do musicals but I've seen you singing before and you're quite good at it so I'm sure that wouldn't be a problem for you."

"He sang once in a school presentation if I remember correctly," Richie said from behind Stanley, having not moved since they started discussing the play, catching everyone's attention once again. "He's fucking good, man, I swear."

"I'm not that good but… singing is not really a problem for me," Stanley smiled, his eyes never drifting from Mike's own as he felt his heart starting to beat faster and faster inside his chest with every word he heard, from the absurdity of the idea that this role was basically made for him. By Mike fucking Hanlon, of all people. "But… I must ask, why did you think I was fit for that character? I think that's the thing that's surprising me the most here, honestly..." or maybe it was the fact that he was going to get his own solo, that he was asked specifically, and that this was _Mike Hanlon!_

"He's a small town guy with a dream to show his talent to the world." Mike explained, leaning against the table and resting his elbows against the wood, sounding rather pleased with himself, making Stanley raise his eyebrows at the description, eyes suddenly wide. "He leaves it all behind to get to New York and reach that goal. He's also a good person who doesn't push people down to get to the top and yet it's willing to do whatever it takes to get there. I think that's enough explanation of why I wanted it to be you."

There was a pregnant pause, Stanley staring incredulously at him for a moment too long, knowing that — on one occasion where he and Mike had talked in the past — he had said something that resembled what Mike had just described to him, how he and Richie left their small town in Maine to follow their dreams in New York, how he wanted to show his talent and passion for the art to the world but haven't had the right opportunity yet. And Mike apparently remembered. Enough that he asked for him again, for a bigger role. That made Stanley incredibly happy, even if he didn't really show that.

"Yeah," he says but it's little hoarse, he clears his throat, continues, "I guess it's enough to explain your decision…"

"There is another thing, though…" Mike chuckled lightly, letting the words hang in the air while he looked for something in the many papers that were left in the desk before handing Stanley a few pages. Stan looked quickly through them, seeing that it was the script from the musical. "You'd have to learn how to tap dance." he finished.

Stan's eyes moved up from the script to Mike's face, down to the papers, and back up again, his words swirling through his head before he stopped to think about it. He tried to see the cons of it, but he had more to win than to lose with that opportunity, making him just shrug in the end and smile again at Mike. "I can definitely learn. It's no problem."

"So do you want the role?" Mike raised his eyebrows, seemingly hopeful, like he honestly believed that Stanley could said something other than _absolutely, yes!_ "You wouldn't have to audition, I've seen you before and I am more than sure you're fit for the position."

"Well, I guess we're working together again then, Hanlon," he breathed out, feeling like he just ran a marathon.

Mike smiled widely at that, reaching for Stanley's hand across the table, while Stan noticed Richie did a small celebration by himself in the corner, fist bumping the air. He wanted Stanley to get a big part as much as Stan himself after all.

"I guess we should start working out the details now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first time writing something since I was probably twelve, and it's a collab with my main man, we been fucking around for 4 years now and theres no one I'd trust more to share my work with. So glad to be working with you, dude!!!! 
> 
> Here's some notes about this chapter:  
> \- Stan's pink pen actually does exist and yes, it glows in the dark, it's a Sanrio pen (from the no thoughts head empty meme) I bought for 3 bucks  
> \- Stan's car is named after Captain Holt's car from Brooklyn Nine-Nine  
> \- Richie calling Stan a "Starkid" is a reference to the musical theatre company StarKid Productions  
> \- Richie's preference for Krispy Kreme is absolutely because of the vine  
> \- Stan and Richie didn't attend to the same college, but are childhood best friends  
> \- Richie and Mike met in college, Richie works for him as his sound guy and helps with the casting but takes small gigs and open mics in the side


End file.
